


The Roommating Season

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7367065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for The XOFiles podcast Go Fic Yourself segment for War of the Coprophages.  I’m paraphrasing, but I believe the request was for a fic where, instead of going to Massachusetts to avoid the fumigation of his apartment, Mulder spends the weekend at Scully’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday

Noon on Friday and already Scully was counting down the minutes until five. For the first time in over a month, they would not be on assignment this weekend and she was planning on enjoying every second of her freedom. She would not be bringing any reports home with her, of that she was certain. By the end of the day, there should be no lingering paperwork, and even if there was, she would be damned if it couldn’t wait until Monday.

 

“Lunch, Scully?” Mulder asked.

 

Scully looked at the clock. If she only took twenty minutes, maybe she could even leave early. “Sure, Mulder, let me just get-”

 

Mulder’s cell phone cut her off and he held up his index finger to her as he fished the phone out of his pocket. “Hold that thought,” he said, connecting the call. “Mulder.”

 

Scully turned back to her laptop and listened to Mulder’s end of the conversation with one ear, even as she transcribed her notes on a recent autopsy.

 

“Well what do you mean no access,” he said. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Well, I can’t just…uh huh. _All_ weekend? Five at the latest? And by Monday if…uh huh. Uh huh. Are you kidding me, that place is a fleabag. Do you know how many murders have take…fine. _Fine_. No, thanks for calling.”

 

Surreptitiously, Scully glanced at Mulder from the corner of her eye as he sighed and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger for a few moments. He tossed his phone onto his desk and folded his hands behind his head, swiveling back and forth as he stared up at the ceiling.

 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Mulder asked.

 

“Absolutely nothing,” she answered.

 

“Want to take a trip somewhere?”

 

“Absolutely not,” she said with finality, shutting her laptop with a loud click. “I thought we were going to lunch.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, I need to find a case or…something.”

 

“Mulder, no.” She stood up quickly, the vision of her relaxing weekend suddenly evaporating in her mind.

 

“Well, I can’t stay here,” he answered, digging through a pile of folders on his desk.

 

Scully pressed her hand down onto the folders, blocking his attempt at opening one. She would not be dragged out onto a case this weekend, she would _not_. She gave him her best glare, but he was busy actively ignoring her and thumbing through the tabs on the sides of the folders for the file names.

 

“Miller’s Grove, Mass,” Mulder said. “A nice weekend in New England.”

 

“No!”

 

“Scully, that was my landlord on the phone. It seems my building is under attack by roaches and battle is commencing immediately in the form of fumigation. I’m under mandatory orders of evacuation until Monday evening at the earliest. They want to put us up at the motel on 1st and I wouldn’t even send Cancerman to shack up in that hell hole, so I _need_ something to do this weekend because I can’t be here.”

 

“Then stay with me,” Scully said.

 

It seems they were both startled by her offer. Her eyes went wide as soon as the words left her mouth and she took a step back from his desk, squaring her shoulders. Mulder raised his eyebrows and she felt flustered all of a sudden.

 

“I uh…” she stammered. “My couch has a pull out bed, so uh…”

 

“It’s a lovely offer.” He shook his head and wiggled one of the files out from the stack, flipping it open. “Widespread accounts of unidentified colored lights hovering in the skies,” he said. “Could be something.”

 

Scully’s shoulders slumped slightly and Mulder sat back again, pulling at his bottom lip.

 

“We haven’t had a weekend home in awhile, have we?” he asked.

 

She shook her head.

 

“Well, I can just look into this on my own.”

 

She sighed, resigned, and held her hand out. “Give me the file.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. Enjoy your weekend.”

 

“I won’t be able to enjoy my weekend with you out in the middle of nowhere chasing lights in the sky. Give me the file.”

 

He held the file back out of her reach. “Is spending the weekend on your couch a serious offer, Scully?”

 

She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t want it to be a serious offer, but she wanted a peaceful weekend at home. The question was, did she want it bad enough to put up with Mulder to get it? All things considered, relaxing at home, even if he was in her hair, had to be better than a minimum of twenty hours in the car, watching nothing happen in the sky, and still having him in her hair.

 

“Of course it is,” she said.

 

Mulder smiled and swiveled in his chair again, twisting the pointed end of the file against his finger. “Will we stay up late watching scary movies?” he asked. “Braid each others’ hair, tell some ghost stories, maybe pai-”

 

“So help me God, Mulder, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘pillow fights in our underwear,’ I’m retracting the offer immediately.”

 

“I was going to go with paint each others’ toenails, but I like your idea a lot better.”

 

“None of the above. Well, maybe a movie.”

 

“All right, Scully.” He tossed the folder back on his desk. “I’ll take a rain check on lunch since I have to grab what I need from my place before five.”

 

“I should be home by 5:30.”

 

Mulder stood and pulled his jacket off the back of his chair, whipping it over his shoulder. “See you at home,” he said, brushing by Scully and leaning over her shoulder, close to her ear. “Roomie.”

 

*******

 

Shortly after six, there was a knock on Scully’s door. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel as she moved out of the kitchen and then paused, taking a deep breath before she opened the door. Mulder smiled at her from the other side, holding a garment bag and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’d changed into a black turtleneck and jeans and a chocolate brown leather jacket.

 

“Hello, roomie!” he said, jubilantly.

 

Queegqueg came flying around the corner at the sound of Mulder’s voice, barking incessantly as he danced near Mulder’s feet.

 

“Get it off,” Mulder said, side-stepping inside the apartment over the yapping dog.

 

“Queegqueg, shush!” Scully bent down and picked the dog up, keeping him under one arm as she directed Mulder to put his things down in the living room. She took the garment bag from him and hung it up in the hall closet and then shut Queegqueg up in her room.

 

“I smell something cooking,” Mulder said, sniffing the air. “Are you cooking?”

 

“Don’t get too excited, it’s just lemon chicken, but yes.”

 

“That’s perfect, I brought you something.” He unzipped his duffel bag and pulled out a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. “A housewarming gift.”

 

“I don’t know if this really counts as a housewarming,” she said, turning the bottle over in her hands. “But thank you.”

 

“Can I help with anything?”

 

Visions of her kitchen exploding had Scully shaking her head and handing Mulder the remote for her TV. “Sit down, give me fifteen minutes or so.”

 

Scully returned to the kitchen where she had been fixing a salad when Mulder had knocked on the door. When she’d gotten home from work, she’d hastily thrown the chicken into the oven and shucked her work attire for a soft grey sweater and dark jeans. She’d barely washed and chopped the lettuce for a salad when Mulder had knocked.

 

The oven timer went off before she finished with the salad and she paused to remove the glass dish from the oven. As she prepared the plates it occurred to her that she’d never shared a home cooked meal with Mulder before. They’d eaten together hundreds of times, but it felt a little different when it wasn’t out of a carton or from a greasy spoon. She’d just cooked for him and somehow that felt kind of personal. And, he’d brought wine. That was entirely new territory.

 

Scully brought the plates of food out to living room with a grip on two sets of utensils wrapped in napkins. She handed Mulder a plate and then put her own on the glass coffee table before sitting down on the floor with her back against the front of the couch.

 

“What are we watching?” she asked.

 

“Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” Mulder answered.

 

“Fifty-something channels on TV and you manage to find the sci-fi movie.”

 

“It’s a classic!” he protested, slipping off the couch and managing to squeeze himself into the spot next to Scully at the coffee table. “Don’t want to spill on your couch and have you yell at me. Do you want to watch something else?”

 

“No, it’s fine. Oh, the wine!”

 

“I’ll get it,” Mulder said, grabbing her arm as she went to push herself up. “I should earn my keep, don’t you think?”

 

“Corkscrew’s in the second drawer to the right of the fridge.”

 

Scully picked at her chicken until Mulder returned with two glasses of wine and sat down next to her again. He tapped his glass against hers with a “cheers” before taking a sip.

 

They watched the movie as they ate in relative silence. Mulder complimented the chicken and she complimented the wine. Twenty minutes later, Richard Dreyfuss was finally on his way to Devil’s Tower and both of their plates were empty. Scully got up to take the plates and was surprised when Mulder stood as well, taking his own dishes to the kitchen ahead of her.

 

“You can finish the movie,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

 

“I’ve seen it a dozen times. I’d rather help.”

 

Scully wrapped up what little leftovers remained while Mulder pushed up his sleeves and started the dishes in the sink. She tried not to check his progress with a critical eye, but she’d seen piles of dishes in his sink before and she wasn’t even sure he knew how to use a sponge. He seemed to be doing a decent enough job though, and the dishes drying in the rack looked clean when he was finished with them. She took up one of her dishtowels and began to dry what he’d just washed.

 

“I have a question,” Mulder said, scrubbing at the empty salad bowl with a soapy sponge.

 

“Okay,” she answered.

 

“I know it's not your inclination, but did you ever look up into the night sky and feel certain that not only was something up there, but it was looking down on you at that exact same moment and was just as curious about you as you are about it?”

 

Scully lifted her right eyebrow in contemplation and slowly dragged the dishrag in circles around the plate in her hand. “Mulder, I think the only thing more fortuitous than the emergence of life on this planet is that, through purely random laws of biological evolution, an intelligence as complex as ours ever emanated from it. The very idea of intelligent alien life is not only astronomically improbable but at it's most basic level, downright anti-Darwinian.”

 

Mulder chuckled and put the last dish into the drying rack before he turned off the water and shook his wet hands over the sink. “I should be exasperated by how disagreeable you are, but it sounds super hot when you say it like that,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants.

 

Scully rolled her eyes and swatted Mulder with her dishtowel. “Go finish your movie and let me finish in here.”

 

By the time she was done, either the movie had ended or Mulder had changed the channel to a wildlife documentary on the Sahara Desert. She decided to let Queegqueg out of jail and opened the door to her room, but the dog was sleeping on his little pillow by her bed and didn’t come out. Mulder rolled his head back against the back of the couch to peer upside down at her as she came back into the living room.

 

“Do you have any games?” he asked.

 

“No, but I think I have a jigsaw puzzle or two.”

 

“Not even a deck of cards?”

 

“Strip poker is not on the table for tonight.”

 

“How about tomorrow night?” Mulder quipped, waggling his eyebrows at her.

 

“I have a…” Scully stopped and tapped on her front teeth with her fingernail.

 

“You have a…?”

 

“A book of questions,” she murmured, moving over to the built-in shelves in the wall. Melissa had given her this book, but they’d only opened it once.

 

“Trivia?”

 

“No, here it is.” She pulled the book out and held the cover side towards Mulder. “It’s called Would You Rather?”

 

Mulder picked up the remote from the coffee table and shut off the TV while Scully sat down cross-legged on the other side of the couch, facing him. She thumbed the pages of the book and then turned it over to read the back.

 

“We can take turns picking the questions,” she said. “And you have to explain your answer.”

 

“Give me an example,” he said.

 

Scully cracked open the book to a random page. “Would you rather be invisible or have super speed?” she asked.

 

“Invisible,” he answered, without hesitation. “Think of all the government facilities I could break into and no one would even know.”

 

She handed Mulder the book, snickering. “Not to mention all the women’s locker rooms you’d suddenly have access to.”

 

“Tempting, but I am a gentleman. Don’t you have to answer?”

 

“Invisible.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To stop you from doing something stupid in those government facilities you’re breaking into.”

 

“Ha ha,” he answered, flipping open the book. “Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?”

 

“Mulder, it does not say that.”

 

“I assure you, it does,” he said, turning the book around for Scully to see.

 

“I asked you a good one.”

 

“This is a good one. Either way you’re making The Weekly World News.”

 

“A horse-sized duck.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“I’ve got pretty good aim, if you remember, and once I shoot it, I’d probably autopsy it and write about it for a scientific journal.”

 

“I think by fight, they mean fist-to-cuffs not…fist-to-wings. Guns might be illegal in this battle.”

 

“Since it didn’t specify, I’ll stick with my answer.”

 

“I think I could take 100 miniature ponies.”

 

Scully took the book back. “Would you rather lose your sense of touch or your sense of smell?”

 

“Smell. Touch is too important.”

 

“But, without smell, you’d have a very weak sense of taste.”

 

“Yeah, but without touch…”

 

Mulder suddenly leaned over and ran his fingertips very lightly across Scully’s face. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks immediately and gave the book back to Mulder. He picked a page, but glanced over the top of the book at her.

 

“You didn’t answer,” he said. “Smell or touch?”

 

She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Uh, smell.”

 

“What changed your mind?”

 

“I never said otherwise. Besides, it would certainly be a blessing sometimes in the autopsy bay.”

 

“Would you rather live in space or under the sea? Oh that’s easy.”

 

“Under the sea,” they both said at the same time.

 

“And you would be space,” she continued, taking the book back out of his hands. “Would you rather never be able to speak again or always have to say everything on your mind?”

 

“I think I already do say everything on my mind.”

 

“I’d miss your voice,” she said.

 

“Really?” Mulder swiveled his head towards her, genuine surprise in his question.

 

“Yes, really. I’d choose to speak my mind as well.”

 

“That’s good. I’d miss your voice as well. No one says ‘Mulder, it’s me,’ quite like you do.”

 

Scully smacked his arm with the book before she relinquished it to him.

 

“Would you rather find true love or a million dollars,” he asked.

 

“Hm, let me think about that,” she said.

 

“True love.”

 

“I haven’t even answered yet.”

 

He shrugged. “My answer’s true love. Money isn’t all that amazing.”

 

“Well, neither of the options ensure happiness.”

 

“You don’t think you’d be happy if you found true love?”

 

“Probably. But, that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t bring me unhappiness as well. Relationships are a lot of work.”

 

“You’re way too practical sometimes, Scully.”

 

“Someone has to wear the reality pants in this partnership, Mulder. But, with respect to this scenario, I would choose true love.”

 

Mulder smiled as he passed the book to her. “I knew there was a romantic side somewhere in there.”

 

“Would you rather live without electricity or running water?”

 

“Electricity, I can light a candle.”

 

“Running water, I can buy bottled.”

 

The game continued. They both preferred to have an extra toe to a missing finger. Mulder would rather eat a bar of soap to Scully’s drinking liquid dish soap. Scully would rather live without TV, but Mulder would rather live without music. They both chose to take bad advice over giving it. Scully could find use for a third arm and Mulder made lewd comments about a third leg. They agreed that eating a live worm would be easier than eating a dead rat. Scully would rather sleep for an entire year while Mulder would rather be awake.

 

Scully was holding the book when Queegqueg came trotting into the room and jumped up onto Mulder’s lap. Mulder grimaced and put the dog off of his lap to the couch, but Queegqueg crawled back, staring at Mulder with his beady black eyes and panting.

 

“I don’t know how you can call this cotton ball with legs a dog,” Mulder said.

 

Queegqueg barked and shifted restlessly on Mulder’s lap. Scully closed the book and tossed it onto the coffee table.

 

“I need to take him out,” she said. “Do you want to go for a walk with us?”

 

Queegqueg barked again at ‘walk’ and leapt off Mulder’s lap to the floor.

 

“I’ll pass,” Mulder said. “But, can I use your shower?”

 

“Of course.” Scully stretched as she got up to get extra towels from the linen closet, Queegqueg at her heels. She gave Mulder the towels and then clipped the leash onto the dog’s collar. “We’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.”

 

“Mkay,” Mulder said, passing her on the way to the bathroom, but he stopped and turned around in the doorway. “Scully?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Would you rather be here now, or never have been assigned to the x-files?”

 

Scully cocked her head. “What kind of question is that?”

 

“One that I know isn’t in that book, but I’m curious.”

 

“I would rather be here now.”

 

“Okay.” He turned around again, but called over his shoulder, “me too,” before he shut the door.

 

Scully shook her head and led Queegqueg outside for his walk. She took her time, letting the dog sniff every bush and pole and crack in the sidewalk that he wanted to so that Mulder could have the privacy. Part of her wanted to run back as soon as she’d left and Queegqueg had lifted his leg, not because she didn’t trust Mulder to be alone in her apartment, but it felt strange. She’d been in his apartment countless times, even let herself in on multiple occasions, but she couldn’t recall Mulder ever having been at her place if she wasn’t there, and even though he had a key, ever letting himself in. She wondered if subconsciously he had more trust in her than she did of him. It was more likely that he just didn’t share the same qualms about personal space that she did.

 

 _Would you rather have Mulder spend the weekend at your apartment,_ she asked herself, _or spend the weekend at Mulder’s apartment?_

 

She suspected the answer, for both of them, would be that this situation would be far more comfortable if Scully were to stay at Mulder’s apartment for the weekend. It wasn’t just Mulder though, she didn’t even relax very well if her mother came over for a few hours. She thought about it as she circled the block with Queegqueg several times and then finally went back inside.

 

Mulder was back on the couch when Scully returned, watching the local news. Queegqueg happily joined him by jumping up beside him, but Mulder blocked his attempts at crawling into his lap by standing a pillow up between them.

 

“Don’t you like dogs, Mulder?” Scully asked, sitting down and pulling Queegqueg away from her partner.

 

“Not ones that eat people.”

 

“That wasn’t his fault.”

 

“Still, he probably remembers the taste of human flesh,” he said, turning to look at the dog, who wagged his tail and panted, smiling up at Mulder. “And now he’s just biding his time.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

They watched the news together and by the time it was over, Scully was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Queegqueg was already snoring in her lap.

 

“I’m heading to bed,” she said, standing and holding the whimpering dog against her chest. He did not like being disturbed. “Oh, you need sheets and things, hang on.”

 

She put Queegqueg in his dog bed and found an extra set of sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. Mulder took them from her and set them in a stack on cushion next to him.

 

“I can make up a bed,” he said. “You go sleep.”

 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Mulder.”

 

“Night, roomie!” he called after her.

 

She rolled her eyes and shut the door to her room.


	2. Saturday

Scully woke slowly on Saturday morning, frowning in annoyance when she looked at the alarm clock and it was only a little past six. This was her day to sleep in and she intended to get a good hour more of sleep before getting up. She closed her eyes again, but then opened them right away, listening intently for any signs that Mulder was awake. She’d almost forgotten she had a house guest. Hearing nothing, she shut her eyes again and the next time she opened them, it was nearly eight o’clock.

 

Scully stretched languidly and got up to brush her teeth. Queegqueg was quietly gnawing on a small rawhide bone in the corner and she stared at him for a moment, wondering if what Mulder said was remotely true. The dog lifted his head from the bone and blinked up at her, tongue lolling out of his mouth. She shook her head and continued to the bathroom.

 

She stood at the sink, brushing her teeth and inspecting a line on her face that she couldn’t tell if it was a developing wrinkle or a crease from her pillow when Mulder stumbled in, naked except for a pair of grey boxer-briefs loose on his hips. She was startled and pulled the toothbrush from her mouth, toothpaste dripping down her chin. Mulder rubbed his spiky bedhead and with half-closed eyes and didn’t even seem to see her.

 

“Mulder!” she choked around a mouthful of toothpaste and then leaned over to spit in the sink, keeping the back of her wrist under her mouth when she straightened.

 

“Morning,” he mumbled blinking at her and continuing to rub the back of his head. He just stood there like it was a normal thing to be half-naked and half-asleep in her bathroom.

 

“Did your parents never teach you to knock?” she said.

 

“Why would I knock on an open door?”

 

She cleaned her mouth and her toothbrush and left the bathroom before he could get too comfortable and do whatever it was he intended to do while she was still there, pulling the door shut behind her when she went. She called to Queegqueg from the hall and went to put on a pot of coffee. Mulder joined her a short time later and sat down at the table. He was still shirtless, but thankfully had thrown on a pair of jeans.

 

“Have you ever lived with anyone, Scully?”

 

“Sure I have,” she answered, popping a few pieces of bread in her toaster oven. “I had three roommates in college, two in grad-”

 

“Not roommates. Have you ever lived _with_ someone? A boyfriend.”

 

“Oh. No, I haven’t. Have you?”

 

“Yeah. For a short time.”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“I don’t know, just thinking about it.”

 

The coffee finished dripping and Scully brought down two mugs from the cabinet, trying not to think too much about what Mulder was thinking about and why he might be thinking what he was thinking about. She poured them both a mug and brought them over to the table.

 

“Would you like some toast?” she asked.

 

“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

“It’s no trouble, it’s just toast.”

 

Mulder took a sip of his coffee. “You’ll be happy to know you won’t have to put up with me all day.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’m going to go for a run and I think I can get in on a basketball game over at the park. It’s also chimichanga night at the Gunmen’s so that game of strip poker will have to wait.”

 

“I’ll try to contain my disappointment.”

 

“Please do.”

 

The timer on the toaster oven went off and Scully pulled the toast out and put it on a plate between them. She got the butter out of the refrigerator because Mulder liked butter, but she liked jelly.

 

After breakfast, Scully went to get dressed to take Queegqueg for his morning walk. By the time she was ready, Mulder had changed into his running gear and the pull-out bed was shut away and the sheets neatly folded, which surprised her. They went out the door together and stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building.

 

“You have your key, right?” Scully asked.

 

“Got it,” he answered, pulling one of his legs back to stretch his hamstrings.

 

“Will you be home for lunch?”

 

“I’ll stop and get something, don’t worry about it.” He started bouncing in place, warming up.

 

“Have fun on your run. I’ll see you later.”

 

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and, still bouncing, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Bye, Scully.”

 

Scully watched him run down the street, wondering what that was about. Queegqueg pulled on his leash, eager to get started on his walk. She turned around and they headed the opposite way.

 

When she got back, she went to the store to get groceries for the week and then spent the rest of the morning into early afternoon doing some light cleaning and laundry. When Mulder got back, she had just disassembled her service weapon to clean it and had all the parts neatly lined up on a towel on the table.

 

“Honey, I’m home,” Mulder called, letting himself in with his key.

 

“You’re lucky my gun is currently inoperable,” she answered.

 

Sweaty and disheveled, Mulder took a seat on the other side of the table and kicked off his shoes. He sat back in the chair and watched her, a slight smile on his face. She twirled a brush through the barrel of her gun and raised her brows at him.

 

“You’re staring,” she said.

 

“You look cute with your hair in a pony tail.”

 

She paused with the brush pushed half-way into the barrel and reached back to touch her head. She only pulled the front of her hair back to be out of her way. The back half was down with the curls licking her neck. “It’s just clipped up,” she said. “It’s not even long enough for a pony tail.”

 

“You missed the point,” he said, lightly. “I stink. I’m going to take a shower.”

 

“Take your shoes with you,” she answered.

 

He pulled his shirt off as he stood up and then threw it over his shoulder as he bent to pick up his shoes. She wondered why men found it so easy to just pull their clothes off whenever they felt like, no matter where they were or who was watching.

 

“You want to go to the Gunmen’s with me later?” Mulder asked. “I’m sure Frohike would love to throw in an extra chimichanga for his best girl.”

 

“I’d love to, but my arteries are saying no.”

 

“My arteries would probably benefit from listening to yours.”

 

“Probably. Go shower.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He saluted with the hand that held his shirt and then marched to the bathroom.

 

Mulder left a short time after showering with a “don’t wait up,” before he went out the door. Out of household chores, she took her own shower. An assortment of toiletries were suddenly crowding her bathroom; soap, shampoo, and conditioner in the shower; aftershave and a razor on her sink; a blue toothbrush in the cup holder next to hers.

 

“Gee, Mulder,” she murmured. “Make yourself at home.”

 

Curious, she lifted the cap on his shampoo to give it a sniff. It didn’t invoke any sense of Mulder to her, in fact it didn’t smell all that familiar at all. She had better luck with the aftershave, which was overwhelmingly Mulder. He may as well be standing over her shoulder it was so Mulder.

 

The evening was rather boring without him. She heated up the leftovers for dinner, took Queegqueg for a long walk, and came back to put on her royal blue silk pajamas and channel surf, but nothing was on. The apartment felt a little chilly to her, so she started a fire and then browsed her bookshelf for something to read. She settled on Breakfast at Tiffany’s and dragged a red chenille blanket from her room to the couch to read.

 

Half an hour later, she was warmer, but felt like something was missing. She put another log on the fire and grabbed a pint of chocolate chip ice cream from the freezer. The whole pint and a spoon went back with her to the couch and she picked up where she left off in the book. Four bites later, the front door opened and Mulder walked in.

 

“What’re you doing here?” she asked around the spoon in her mouth.

 

“I live here,” he said. “For the next thirty-six hours anyway. What’re you doing here?”

 

“I _actually_ live here.” She folded her knees and moved her feet in so Mulder could sit down.

 

“A heated argument on string theory broke out at the Gunmen’s and I figured it was a good time to leave. Is that ice cream in your hand or are you just happy to see me?”

 

“Get a spoon if you want some.”

 

Mulder hopped up from the couch, shedding his leather jacket and tossing it onto the chair across the room. He returned, spoon in hand, and she tipped the ice cream towards him so he could take a scoop.

 

“Where’s the ankle biter?” he asked.

 

“Probably taking his after post-dinner, pre-bedtime nap.”

 

“What were you reading?”

 

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

 

“You know, Truman Capote never liked the movie,” he said, sliding a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “He wanted Marilyn Monroe for the part, not Audrey Hepburn.”

 

“Have you seen the movie?”

 

“Not since college.”

 

“Film class?” she asked, shoving Mulder’s spoon aside with her own when he tried to beat her to another bite.

 

“Bad date.”

 

“Why bad?”

 

“I had to go see some sappy movie and I didn’t even get a kiss goodnight.”

 

“How horrible. How did you ever live to tell the tale?”

 

“I asked Phoebe out shortly thereafter.”

 

Scully couldn’t help the noise of disapproval that came from the back of her throat and she took another bite of ice cream. “I’m surprised you lived through _that_ tale.”

 

“You mean you’re not the president of the Inspector Green fan club?”

 

“Not even a card-carrying member.”

 

Mulder pushed his spoon into the ice cream and slowly dragged a very small bite out, holding the spoon by his mouth for a few moments before he finally took the bite. He glanced at her and dug his spoon back in. “Do you mind if I ask why?” he asked.

 

“Mulder, she was horrible to you and you need to ask me why?”

 

“Yeah, but…you didn’t know our history before you decided not to like her. You just…didn’t like her.”

 

Scully shrugged. Everything about Phoebe Green rubbed her the wrong way, starting with the familiarities she tried to take with her partner, right on down to throwing him into a case she knew he’d have a hard time with. She hadn’t known Mulder very long at the time, but she still felt territorial. Mess with my partner, mess with me, she remembered feeling.

 

“Sometimes you just don’t click with certain people,” she said. “We didn’t click.”

 

“Did you and I click?”

 

“I think so. Don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I think we did. Do. I think we still click.” Mulder tapped his spoon against Scully’s as they both reached for a bite. “Even our spoons click.”

 

Scully rolled her eyes. They were quiet for a few moments and then she stabbed her spoon into the ice cream and relinquished her hold on the pint, giving it it to Mulder before sitting back against the arm of the couch.

 

“Was Phoebe who you lived with?” she asked.

 

“No, thank God. Then maybe I really wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.”

 

“Who was she?”

 

Mulder silently stared at the tub of ice cream. She saw the muscle in his jaw twitch.

 

“Nevermind,” she said. “I don’t need to know.”

 

“If you didn’t like Phoebe, I can’t imagine what you’d think of Diana.” He went silent again and then shook his head, standing. “I’ll put this away.”

 

Scully plucked at a thread in the stitching of the cushions as she watched Mulder retreat. She felt like the air had left the room and the mood was suddenly dark. She wondered who this Diana woman was and how she could be worse than Phoebe. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it and she was reluctant to pry, though she was certainly curious.

 

“How about a movie?” she asked, when he came back to the couch.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“I think I have Die Hard or Lethal Weapon or one of those guy movies in the cabinet over there. Bill dropped a box of VHS tapes on me when he moved because he didn’t want to bring them with him.”

 

Mulder got up and opened the cabinet at the bottom of the TV stand. “Where’s he stationed now?”

 

“San Diego.”

 

“Blazing Saddles! Scully, you’ve been holding out on me.”

 

“Must’ve been Bill’s.”

 

“I’ll send him a thank you card later. You mind if we watch this one?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Mulder put the tape in the VCR and Scully grabbed the remote to turn the TV on. She had him get the remote for the VCR and they waited for the movie to rewind. When it finished its course and she pressed play, they both laughed at the FBI warning that came on the screen.

 

“I’ve never met anyone that works in the VHS piracy division at the bureau,” Mulder joked. “Have you?”

 

“Do we even have a VHS piracy division?” she asked, pressing fast forward to skip through the previews before the feature.

 

“We must. Let’s check the directory on Monday and make some prank calls.”

 

The movie started and they settled in. Scully remembered watching it once with her brothers when she was young, but it was a vague memory. Mulder seemed to enjoy it though. Her eyes grew heavy after awhile and she laid her head down on the arm of the couch, curling up slightly. She had no idea she’d fallen asleep until she was suddenly awake. A log that had burned down to embers split apart and crackled, the red glow of the dying flames emanating from the fireplace, and it managed to pull her from sleep with a jerk of her shoulders. Somewhere in slumber she had stretched out and her feet were in Mulder’s lap, with one of his hands resting lightly on her ankle. The TV was off and he was reading her abandoned copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

 

“Hey,” he said, squeezing her foot slightly and lowering the book.

 

“I must’ve fallen asleep,” she stated the obvious, pulling herself upright and rubbing her face with both hands. The blanket slipped to the floor and Mulder leaned over to pick it up.

 

“Yeah,” he answered.

 

“What time is it?”

 

“Almost one,” he said, glancing at his watch.

 

“One! Why aren’t you sleeping?”

 

“You’re in my bed.”

 

Scully jumped up, swaying on her feet. “Oh, Mulder, I’m sorry. You should’ve woken me up.”

 

“I’m catching up on my literature,” he answered, holding up the book. “This really is nothing like the movie.”

 

“But, you could’ve…I would’ve gotten up. What if I’d never woken up?”

 

“Probably would’ve put you to bed eventually like a good roommate.”

 

“I don’t believe that’s part of the duties of a roommate.”

 

“You know me, Scully, I like to go above and beyond the call of duty.”

 

“Right…” She gathered up her blanket and held it to her chest. “Okay, well…I’m going to bed.”

 

“Night, Scully. Sweet dreams.”

 

“Night, Mulder.”


	3. Sunday

Scully woke slowly, nuzzling her face into the sun-soaked pillow beside her. She sighed and rolled over, squinting her eyes open. She propped herself up on her elbows and yawned. She stared at the open door to the bathroom, kicking herself for being too tired to have remembered to close it last night. Not wanting an awkward repeat of yesterday morning, she got up to close it and then pulled her robe on to go start the coffee.

 

Out of nowhere, she suddenly heard Mulder shout her name from the living room. In seconds, she had grabbed her gun and came flying out of the bedroom, silk robe billowing behind her as she pointed her weapon in every imaginable corner to eliminate the threat. What she found was Mulder, face down on the pull-out bed, Queegqueg standing on his head and licking his cheek.

 

“Jesus, Mulder!” she said, lowering her gun.

 

“It’s attacking me!”

 

“You’re being absurd,” she answered, pulling Queegqueg up and off Mulder with one hand. She put her gun on the mantle and glared at him.

 

Mulder rolled over, scrubbing his face with both hands. “Haven’t you ever seen The Trouble With Tribbles?”

 

“No, but I’m writing an essay today called The Trouble With Mulder.”

 

“I woke up and that little cannibal was trying to lick my face off.”

 

Scully rolled her eyes and dropped the dog back on Mulder and he groaned as Queegqueg happily danced on his chest and sniffed his neck. At least he was wearing a t-shirt this morning.

 

“Scully!” he whined.

 

“I’m making coffee.” She left him to deal with his irrational nonsense on his own and went to the kitchen. She’d seen him jump into a sewer to chase a man-sized flukeworm, surely he could handle a normal-sized Pomeranian.

 

Mulder was about five steps behind her, dodging the dog as it trotted so closely next to him to be a trip hazard.

 

“Where’s the dog food?” Mulder asked.

 

“Why, are you hungry?”

 

“Not for me, obviously this thing needs to be fed before it eats one of us.”

 

“In the cupboard next to the stove.”

 

Mulder grabbed the bag of dog food and poured about three times too much kibble into Queegqueg’s dog bowl. The dog went after it with fervor. Mulder disappeared almost immediately after and after Scully finished preparing the coffee, she bent down and picked up Queegqueg’s bowl, pouring about half of what was in it back into the bag while the dog crunched on the bits that had spilled over onto the floor.

 

By the time Mulder emerged, fully dressed, she was already drinking her coffee and reading the morning paper. Queegqueg was still working on his breakfast, but was sure to fall into a food coma at any moment.

 

“Going somewhere?” Scully asked.

 

“Are you going to church this morning?” he asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Can I take you to brunch?”

 

She raised her eyes from a weather report predicting a blizzard for the coming week to look at him. “You want to take me to brunch?” she asked.

 

“Yeah. You didn’t have to let me stay, and I know you only did it because you didn’t want to go away this weekend, but I appreciate it anyway, so let me take you to brunch.”

 

Damn him. She could have killed him ten minutes ago, but of course he had to go and do something endearing.

 

“I know I’m a pain in the ass,” he said.

 

“You’re not a pain in the ass, Mulder.”

 

He lifted his brows as though he didn’t believe her.

 

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re…unique.”

 

“Which is French for pain in the ass, I’m sure.”

 

“You can take me to brunch,” she answered, closing the newspaper and taking another sip of her coffee. “Let me get dressed and I need to walk the dog. Unless you’d care to take him out.”

 

“Not so much, but I’ll go with you once you’re dressed.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She was surprised by the offer and left to get ready before he changed his mind. She put on a pair of jeans and a soft white sweater. It was supposed to be colder today than the past few days, so she also put on wool socks and boots. She brushed her teeth and her hair and put on just a light brush of mascara to her lashes and then she was ready.

 

Mulder and Queegqueg were having a staring contest when she came out into the living room. Mulder was sitting on the couch and Queegqueg was at his feet. The standoff at the OK Corral was probably less tense.

 

“Queegqueg, let’s go for a walk,” Scully called, breaking the spell. The dog instantly ran to the door and Mulder heaved himself up from the sofa.

 

They took the dog two blocks over to an enclosed dog park to run around for a bit. There were four other dogs inside the fenced-in stretch of dirt and they all ran after each other with gusto, barking and rolling on the ground and jumping on the benches where their people waited. Mulder and Scully stood outside the gate, watching them play.

 

“I’m going to have to give him a bath later,” Scully said.

 

Mulder’s cell phone rang and he walked a few paces away to take the call. He came back with a grimace on his face and his hands shoved in his pockets.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

“That was my landlord. The extermination went well and we’re welcome back tomorrow afternoon.”

 

“Why do you look so disgruntled then?”

 

“He said to dispose of any roach carcasses as we find them.”

 

“Okay.” She glanced over at Queegqueg running after a Labrador to make sure the dogs were just playing and not fighting.

 

“Scully, can I confess something to you?”

 

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

 

“I hate insects.”

 

“You know, lots of people are afraid of insects, Mulder. It's just a...it's a natural instinctive-”

 

“No, no, I'm not afraid of them,” he interrupted, grabbing onto the fence and bending slightly so that his head was down. “I hate them. One day, back when I was a kid, I was climbing this tree when I noticed this leaf walking towards me. It took forever for me to realize that it was no leaf.”

 

“A praying mantis?

 

“Yeah, I had a praying mantis epiphany and, as a result, I screamed. Not a girlie scream, but the scream of someone being confronted by some unknown monster that had no right existing on the same planet I inhabited. Did you ever notice how a praying mantis' head resembles an alien's head? I mean, the mysteries of the natural world were revealed to me that day, but instead of being astounded, I was... repulsed.”

**“** Mulder, are you sure it wasn't a girlie scream?”

 

He snorted and she smiled, bumping her shoulder with his lightly. He straightened and sighed. She went inside the gate and called to Queegqueg. The dog ran over to her and she clipped him to his leash.

 

They took Queegqueg back home and then walked a few blocks in the opposite direction to a café in her neighborhood.  It was still early enough in the morning that it wasn’t very busy for brunch.  Mulder got pancakes and sausage and Scully got eggs Florentine.  They shared a pitcher of mimosas and watched the clouds outside turn grey.

 

By the time they got back to Scully’s apartment, a light snow flurry had kicked up.  Wet flakes dusted their hair and shoulders and her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold.  Queegqueg, curled up on the comfy chair across from the couch, snored lightly and didn’t wake on their arrival.  Scully built another fire in the fireplace and then dug deep into her wardrobe and found an old box of Parcheesi.

 

Three games later, Scully was up two to one.  Queegqueg had woken once, only to move closer to the fire and go back to sleep closer to the warmth.  They started their fourth game.

 

“What would you be doing right now if I wasn’t here?” Mulder asked.

 

“I don’t know,” she answered, rolling the dice in her hand.  “Probably not much more than this.  I made a vow to myself not to do anything work-related this weekend.  What would you be doing if your apartment wasn’t being fumigated?”

 

“I’d probably be in Massachusetts.”

 

“Without me?”

 

Mulder shrugged.  “Checking out reports of lights in the sky is a lot more appealing than an empty apartment.  I would’ve called you if I found anything though.”

 

“You would’ve called me if you’d found trouble,” she stated.

 

“That too.”

 

Scully cursed mildly as Mulder bumped one of her pawns back to the home space.  “You know, you can take a break every once in awhile, Mulder.  Not every light needs to be chased.”

 

“I’m taking a break right now.”

 

“Only because I offered you an alternative.”

 

“It was an attractive alternative,” he answered, glancing up at her.  “And you asked so nicely.”

 

She wanted to know what exactly Mulder found attractive about her answer and nearly asked, but bit her tongue.  She wasn’t sure she’d like the answer.  On the other hand, she couldn’t have her interest piqued like that and let it go so easily.

 

“What do you mean it was an attractive alternative?” she asked.

 

“Well, we never do anything outside of work.  I thought it might be interesting to see what you’re like when you’re not _Agent_ Scully.”

 

She really didn’t have a response for that.  They continued the game and Mulder won that round.  Tied, two to two.  Queegqueg woke up before they could work on a tie-breaker and Scully decided it was time to give him that bath.  She was surprised when Mulder followed her to the kitchen where she deposited the dog in the sink and pulled out the bottle of Die, Flea, Die!

 

Scully rolled up her sleeves and soaped up the dog, grateful that he didn’t squirm as much as he usually did.  Mulder sat at the table and she noticed that he brought her copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s with him.

 

“I want to find out how it ends,” he said, when Scully lifted her brows at him.

 

“I forgot to get a towel.  Could you get one from the linen closet?”

 

“Sure.”  Mulder put the book down and brought her a yellow fluffy towel, which was probably the first thing he saw.  She should have specified _not_ one of the good towels.

 

“Oh, not that one…I’ll get it.”  She turned off the water and dried her hands.  “Stay,” she told Queegqueg and went into the hall.

 

“Scully!”

 

She heard a yelp and turned and Queegqueg, soapy and wet, had just leapt from the counter to the floor.  Mulder gave a valiant attempt to lunge over the table, but he was nowhere near fast enough to reach the dog.  Queegqueg shook himself off, sending soap and water flying and then ran towards Scully.

 

“Hey!” she called, catching Queegqueg as he ran at her and scooped him up.  “Bad dog,” she admonished as she got the right towel.  “You can’t run out of the bath like that.”

 

Mulder was down on his hands and knees, wiping up the floor and counters with paper towels when she came back.

 

“Oh, Mulder, you don’t have to do that,” she said.

 

“I tried to catch him.”

 

“I know you did.”

 

“You walked away and he just…”

 

“It’s all right, it’s only water.” She put Queegqueg back in the sink to finish the bath and Mulder finished wiping up the mess.

 

“I think we should order pizza,” he said.

 

“Is it still snowing out?”

 

Mulder went into the living room and went outside. “Not really. Just some flurries still.”

 

“Well, I went shopping yesterday and I thought I’d make a nice salmon.”

 

“You don’t have to cook for me, Scully.”

 

“It’s not really cooking _for_ you, don’t flatter yourself. I like doing it and I don’t get a chance to very often.”

 

“If you’re ok with it, I’d love to have salmon.”

 

Scully finished with Queegqueg and rubbed him as dry as she could with the towel. She set him on the ground and he ran back to the fireplace, flipping over to rub his back into the carpet as his little legs flailed in the air. Mulder asked to help with dinner and she tried to send him away, but he was insistent so she gave him the vegetables to wash and chop.

 

They worked side by side at the counter and though it felt a little crowded, they managed to be out of each other’s way when needed. Scully would have to admit it was rather handy to have a tall person available to grab things from the upper shelves when she needed them instead of having to get out her step stool.

 

They had dinner at the table that night, instead of in front of the TV, and Mulder told her a story about a fishing trip gone horribly wrong when he was a little boy, not just because of his seasickness, but because he’d somehow managed to get a hook caught in his finger and what followed was a lot of blood and yelling on top of the vomiting. Tragic as the tale might be, he had her laughing.

 

He helped her clean up the kitchen again and they were done in almost no time. They played the tie-breaker round of Parcheesi and Mulder won, but it was neck and neck at the finish. Scully looked at her watch. It was getting close to the time she would normally go to bed on a work night. Mulder went to take a shower and she got the pull-out bed ready for him since she failed to do so on either of the previous nights and felt like a bad hostess for it.

 

After Mulder was finished and Scully did her own bedtime rituals, she came out to the living room to tell him good night. He was propped up against a pillow, legs crossed, reading Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Queegqueg was laying on the empty side of the bed, head on his paws.

 

“Did you take make friends?” she asked, crossing to the other side of the couch to pick the dog up.

 

“I warned him to stay on his side and we wouldn’t have any trouble.”

 

“Good night, Mulder.”

 

“Night, Scully.”


	4. Monday

The alarm went off and Scully groaned. Time to face the day and get ready and try to figure out how to accomplish it with another person in the apartment facing the same predicament. She made the decision to start the coffee first and then check with Mulder to see how they could split their time with the bathroom.

 

Mulder was still asleep when she crept out of the bedroom and she decided it would give her the opportunity to take a quick shower and then they wouldn’t have to divide up the time all that much. She was washed and dried in under twenty minutes and Mulder was awake when she came back to the kitchen to retrieve her coffee.

 

“Morning,” Mulder rasped.

 

“Good morning,” she answered.

 

“Bathroom free?”

 

“All yours.”

 

“I won’t be long.”

 

Scully sipped on her coffee for a few moments, but left it behind to go get dressed. Remembering the weather was supposed to be bad, she looked out the window. It had definitely snowed overnight, but only a few inches from what it looked like and the road was mostly clear. She put on a black pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse and went back to the kitchen to put some bread in the toaster.

 

Just as the toast finished, Mulder came into the kitchen, buttoning his cuffs. She could smell his presence behind her as she buttered and jellied the toast, sharp and fresh, before it ha a chance to wear off a little and become more subdued and settled. It made her smile and she wasn’t sure why.

 

She offered him the jellied piece of toast and he held it in his teeth to finish tucking his dress shirt into his pants. The last thing she needed was jelly on the floor, so she took it out of his mouth and waited, sipping her coffee while he buckled his belt. When he was finished, she held it back out for him and he leaned over, biting it out of her hand with a grin. She pushed a mug of coffee towards him and then washed her sticky hands.

 

“Have you looked outside?” she asked.

 

“No, why?” he asked, licking toast crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

 

“We got snow overnight?”

 

“Great. Ride in is going to be a bitch. Do you want to go in together or I can follow you in my car?”

 

She was going to tell him that she’d had a defensive driving course at the academy, thank you very much, and was perfectly capable of handling a little snow, but reminded herself that it was a nice thing to have someone care if she fishtailed off the road into a ditch.

 

“Just follow me in,” she said.

 

“Mkay.” He looked around the kitchen over the top of his mug. “Did you lock the furball in the closet this morning or something?”

 

“He’s not really a morning dog,” she chuckled. “He won’t wake up until the dogwalker comes in on the weekdays.”

 

“I think I’d like to live his life.”

 

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

 

Since the bathroom was open, Scully went in to do her make-up, leaving the door open. She was doing her eye shadow when Mulder knocked lightly and she glanced at him in the mirror. He held his toiletry bag up.

 

“Just need to…”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

He went about collecting his things from her shower and she stepped slightly to the side at the sink so he could get his shaving things and toothbrush. She caught him staring at her when she finished her right eye and raised her brow at him. He shook his head and zipped up his bag.

 

“It’s a fascinating ritual,” he said.

 

“Make-up?”

 

“You don’t even need it, but you still take the time to do it. Let me go pick up my bed and I’ll be ready when you are.”

 

She watched him walk out in the mirror and hesitated as she lifted the brush of eyeshadow to her face.

 

It was still snowing outside when they left and by the looks of it, wasn’t going to stop any time soon. Traffic crawled, but they made it to work on time and walked down to the basement together. Mulder started reviewing cases immediately and she booted up her laptop to check her email.

 

The morning was pretty quiet until Mulder’s phone rang. She could tell it was Skinner by the ‘yes, sir,’ that Mulder responded with after he picked up and the conversation was brief.

 

“That was Skinner,” Mulder said when he hung up. “The city is shutting down at noon due to the blizzard, so we have to clear out before then or else. A travel ban’s being instituted starting at 1pm.”

 

“Is it really that bad?” Scully stood up and stretched her neck to peer up at the basement windows, but they were whited out completely.

 

Her cell phone rang and she sat back down to pull it out of her bag. She connected the call and ended it a few minutes later with a sigh.

 

“Now what?” Mulder asked.

 

“That was my dog walker. Storm knocked down a power line and the electricity is out on my block and expected to be out for the next few days.”

 

“No kidding?”

 

“No kidding.” She sighed again and had her finger on the speed dial for her mother.

 

“Why don’t you stay with me then?”

 

“It’s okay, I can-”

 

“Oh come on, Scully. Would you rather spend a blizzard holed up in an apartment without electricity or spend it with me? And think hard, because just the other day you said you’d rather live without running water than electricity.”

 

“I did say that.” She thought about their Parcheesi game and how Mulder told her without her offer he’d be in Massachusetts. She certainly didn’t want to have to go haul him back from New England in a blizzard, so in the interest of keeping him out of trouble, she took her finger off the speed dial and put her phone away. “All right, Mulder,” she said. “Looks like we’re roommates for a few more days still.”

 

He jumped up from his chair. “Well then, we better get going then so we have time to pick up whatever you need at home. I’ll drive.”

 

“You realize this means the dog is coming with me, don’t you?”

 

Mulder paused as he slipped on his overcoat and then adjusted the collar. “He better not try to eat my fish.”

 

The End


End file.
